


Of Locks and Keys

by Youarethelightoftheworld



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Denial of Feelings, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Falling In Love, First Kiss, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Hurt/Comfort, Johnlock Fluff, Johnlock Roulette, Love, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-12
Updated: 2013-10-12
Packaged: 2017-12-29 04:18:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1000797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Youarethelightoftheworld/pseuds/Youarethelightoftheworld
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He listens to the steady beating of John’s heart and thinks of his own; weak and vulnerable, but aching to be released.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Locks and Keys

_I am mechanical, John._

More often than not, Sherlock is certain that he has the advantage.  Caring would only degrade his mind, and he cannot afford the cost.  This much has always been true. 

Then there are times when he is not so certain. He often observes as John places a comforting hand on someone’s shoulder or speaks in a quiet, sympathetic tone.  Sherlock can feel the warmth that John possesses, and he marvels at his ability to so easily share it.

John will inevitably glance up at him and see nothing but the whirring of complex thoughts behind his eyes.  In these moments, Sherlock is certain that John is reminding himself that he is alone in his empathy. And yet, John continues to believe. 

 

_No, Sherlock.  You are a human being._

 

Sherlock sees no reason to bother with the feelings of others.  It should be enough that he saves their lives.  Must he also accept their tears, their cries of relief, and their embraces?

John accepts these willingly. He tucks them away into corners of his soul, giving them a home.  He exchanges them for his own tears, his own aches, and watches them depart in another’s hands.  Sherlock _knows_ that such an exchange is an indication of weakness.

And yet, John’s strength reverberates through him like the beating of a drum.

 

_Don’t make people into heroes, John._

Sometimes, Sherlock stops and listens to the beating of John’s heart.

It is there, alive and fluttering, when they run down the streets of London.

When they solve a mystery.

When their laughter echoes through the halls of 221B.

It is in these moments that Sherlock is reminded of his own heart.  Not alive, but dormant.

Hidden away, behind locks that seem to have no keys. 

 

_You do have a heart, Sherlock.  I can see it._

 

Sherlock begins to wish that he could remember where he left the keys.

They have been lost for many years.  Tossed into dusty corners and left behind.  Forgotten.

But Sherlock can feel the locks wavering under the weight of his newfound companionship.  And each time John’s heart beats with empathy for another, Sherlock’s heart gives a feeble lurch. 

 

_You are the only one who knows where to look._

He begins to feel as if his skin is covered in bruises, all from the painstaking effort of waking his latent heart.  A heart that is raw and scarred from trembling powerlessly against the locks that encase it. 

And then it all becomes too much.  

When Sherlock cannot find the words to say, he seeks out the only one who can help.

He finds John curled up in bed and slips under the covers without a word. He waits for John to speak, but hears no sound.  Silently, an arm is wrapped around his waist, pulling him close. 

John does not even open his eyes. 

In the darkness, Sherlock allows the tears to fall.  

 

_No, Sherlock. It has been there all along._

He listens to the steady beating of John’s heart and thinks of his own; weak and vulnerable, but aching to be released.

Sherlock knows now that the man beside him has offered him the keys.  He need only use them.  And as he leans into John’s warmth, he finds his courage.  

Sherlock brushes his lips across John's forehead and the locks fall away, revealing a heart that beats with the strength of a man who is unafraid to feel.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, all! This fanfiction is based off of this poem: 
> 
> ~  
> A man stands at the side of a crime scene. His jawline is clenched, fingers rummaging the side of his sleeve as he thinks, when his mechanical mind weighs the possibilities, and he sees the strings that connect all things and people in his mind like a London map, but more complicated, with thousands of subways and alleys, dead ends, and he always ends up finding the right way, the right answer to every question-and his mind is a pocket watch, ticking away, subduing his heartbeats. 
> 
> And there is another man, standing next to the first one, and his mind isn’t a clock, there is no gleam of steel in his eyes; but he has strong heartbeats, and sometimes the first man with a machinery in his mind stops, and listens to the gentle drum in this man’s chest, and remembers that he has one inside his own rib case too, hidden away, behind locks, and the man who stands beside him keeps on offering him keys to open them.  
> ~
> 
> I have searched for the author, but it seems to have been written anonymously! If anyone knows of the author, I would be happy to credit him or her.
> 
> Please let me know what you think! I am always so excited to hear your thoughts and ideas.


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